Haunted
by CailinNollaig
Summary: His eyes are burning into her, much like the scars, and though the shame burns just as intensely, nothing matches his gaze. Nothing ignites her as brightly as his gaze and his touch.   MajorAngst


**Haunted**

_Come on, come on don't leave me like this  
I thought I had you figured out  
Something's gone terribly wrong, you're all I wanted  
Come on, come on don't leave me like this  
I thought I had you figured out  
Can't breathe whenever you're gone  
Can't turn back now, I'm haunted._

She stares silently, not breathing a word. The silence between just them is too fragile for her to break it with meaningless phrases and attempts at conversation - there were no words that could fix what they had done, and no words to convey what it meant to her. Apologies and clarifications are unwanted and there is no time turner to undo it. It's been happening for far too long now - perhaps they could finally realise what they were doing.

They hadn't intended on taking it this far, hadn't intended on getting as deep as they did. It isn't something they had ever thought through, or spoken about, but rather spoke through their customary glances and actions. It started with a desperate grip on something solid, something real and believable than the miserable existence that they wandered through day in day out.

She's always gripping, pulling, grabbing at something she can hold onto - something she can believe in. Her principles seem to lie shattered at her feet now, and no matter how she tries, she can't piece them together again. No amount of glue will fix it.

The war envelopes them in a bubble of grief and disillusionment - they are never fully aware of how true this statement is, or how far from reality they've drifted themselves. They've lost who they were, forgotten what they believed in, left behind all they once cared for. Everything's ripped from her hands at once stage or another, and she can't bear to see him rip this from her, too. He's the only anchor she has, the only thing that keeps her afloat on those devastating days.

No one else understood. They spoke, and laughed, and joked as if the world had never stopped spinning. They proposed, and had families, climbed the proverbial career ladder without question or cry. No one had stopped to ask her how she was doing, no one paused to ask how her day was going.

She's disgusted with herself; with the self-pity she wallows in and the desolation she claws out of regularly. Ron doesn't know how she struggles - she smiles and he moves on. Ron doesn't feel the burden of those lost; he doesn't watch and despair at the families who feel no point in going on as normal. He doesn't feel that meaninglessness and futility that she can't seem to escape from.

The scars from the war itch her, no matter where she turns, and they're constantly burning her. She feels it when she's in a meeting, when she's chatting with friends, kissing Ron.. They're always burning deep lacerations that haunt her consciousness and subconscious. They taint her memories and feed her future lies of truths that she can't explain. She feels their presence close behind her and painfully wants to shake it off, wants to run away and run until she can't sense the soreness of her legs or the blinding tears in her eyes or the ache that comes with it.

Oh, how she aches.

His eyes are burning into her, much like the scars, and though the shame burns just as intensely, nothing matches his gaze. Nothing ignites her as brightly as his gaze and his touch. Every graze smoulders with a ferocity and each glance imprints itself upon her memory, erasing all other daunting recollections she has gathered in her lifetime.

She's not aware of anyone around her; not conscious of their oblivious, carefree and nonchalant existence. Their utter and complete ignorance of her omnipresent and eternally fresh anguish melts away in the face of his emerald green eyes, boring into hers with significance that she recognises. She has to leave.

Hermione looks around and feels smothered - one year since the day she lay in Malfoy Manor and they still walk as if it never happened. Ron is eating as he laughs, Molly is watching with a smile, Ginny giggles loudly, Arthur chuckles fondly, George comments humouredly and Hermione blinks.

She has to get out. This isn't normal - this - this… It isn't supposed to just _continue. _Everyone is not supposed to simply keep moving and pacing through life. Why isn't anyone stopping? There should be time made to recuperate, not to jump back in.

Hermione pushes back from the table suddenly, knocking her chair back and causing her cup to clatter to the ground. It smashes into smithereens and in that defining moment, she identifies with the thousands of pieces strewn messily across the floor. She backs away, telling the Weasley's to hoarsely, "Stay away." her breath is heavy, and she's sure it scares everyone.

Then he takes a step forward.

She watches as he approaches and she vainly hopes that he'll give it all up. Above the shame, she hates the lies - she hates that her principles no longer exist. She hates that nobody but him can help her and he won't even do it outwardly, after all she had done from him.

Just as he reaches her, he pauses. His arm is outstretched, but out of her reach. Hermione raises her chin shakily, challenging him. Her eyes beg him to hold her, beg him to take her away and never look back - she _needs _this.

The memories haunt him as much as her. The scars are as deeply engrained with him. The blinding, haunting, excruciating screams from the Manor rips through his night as much as it does hers.

There's no escaping them.

His hand, still limp at the end of his arm, withdraws. His eyes soften into something akin to torment, swirling in the great emerald depths torturously incorrigibly. There's a whimper from Ginny and he blinks; all residue of his anguish is gone.

It's then that Ron embraces her lovingly, and she can't awaken her emotions enough to pull away.

_Oh, oh, holding my breath, won't see you again,  
Something keeps me holding on to nothing._

* * *

A/N: I know, it's extremely, extremely strange but it was one of those that just wrote itself. I will be writing a fic someday, god knows when, based on these lyrics and H/HR. Perhaps not as angtsy. That was the main purpose of this fic - I was feeling angsty.

Song is "Haunted" by Taylor Swift, which I do not own. It's a brilliant song, and fantastic lyrically and musically if you're interested.

Reviews are loved, of course!

xCNx


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